


Stake Out

by watchthequeenconquer



Category: Narcos (TV)
Genre: Angst and Porn, Belly Rubs, Blow Jobs, Dirty Talk, Drunkenness, Hero Complex, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Narcos Season 2 Spoilers, One Shot, Sexual Humor
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-12-03
Updated: 2016-12-03
Packaged: 2018-09-06 04:48:33
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,435
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8735476
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/watchthequeenconquer/pseuds/watchthequeenconquer
Summary: Getting blown by my partner in our patrol car? Guess even the good guys get distracted sometimes. Reeling from a personal loss, Murphy gets drunk on a stake out. Peña takes his professional duties as a partner to a whole new level. Murphy's POV.





	

**Author's Note:**

> Set sometime after Murphy's meltdown at the beginning of Narcos Season 2.  
> Contains spoilers. Explicit for language, discussion of graphic sexual acts and excessive tequila consumption.  
> Do not read if you're not into M/M - I couldn't fight that chemistry.

In the mythology surrounding modern law enforcement, stake outs rank deceptively high in the pantheon of surmountable feats in the perception of the public. Don’t be fooled – if the perfect positioning and the precise moment presents itself, you feel damn close to god-like.

But more often than not, as my partner Javier Peña and I were experiencing during our extended pursuit of Colombia’s most notorious narco, the stake out is only one in a line of labours before you may or may not get one shot at that elusive bust.

The good old American phrase “nothing to see here, folks” seems to transcend the language gap as we wait on one vein of a cluster of roads where Escobar’s men had been allegedly spotted trailing to one of his secret hideouts for the best part of a day with no sighting of our three-headed Hydra.

Hercules must have been one patient bastard, but without obstacles to overcome, what separates the champions of men from a badge-wearing commoner?

“Have another one, Murphy. You look like shit.”

Peña, ever the poster boy for police protocol, cracks open another cold one and presses it into my palm, leaving no room to diplomatically decline. I lift my head from the cooling press of the window momentarily in recognition, thankful for the settling storm clouds rolling overhead for a break in the heat.

f

“Cheers, partner,” I tip the rim in a mock salutation, sun glasses slipping low on my nose as I regard the man at the wheel, unable to help my sarcasm four, five beers in, half-wasted in the middle of a wasteland, “Should we make a toast to your shitty intel or just drink to Pablo’s continued prosperity?”

Javi’s dark eyes shine bright with the challenge, but the asshole doesn’t bite, his deep laughter deflecting off the worn-out dash.

“Well, excuse me. You’ll thank me one day for getting you in on this tip when Escobar is nothing but dust beneath your cowboy boots, gunslinger.”

I pop my feet up in resentment, reclining to comfortably down the rest of the drink in a prolonged swallow. Being a Southern boy, I’ve always been good at holding my liquor, but running off three days without sleep on a lead going nowhere, I relish the way the angle makes my head spin, distorting my already warped reality just a little bit more.

Even heroes get distracted sometimes, I bet.

“Talk me through why we’re camped out in the boondocks again?” I finally respond, eyes on the blurred edges of the horizon. The storm clouds stand sentinel, anticipating the downpours’ arrival.

“With the rain forecasted to wash out the lower routes and the middle roads already used at least once in the past month, we’re hoping Pablo’s flunkies takes the logistical high road for their latest drop…are you even listening, Murphy?”

“Sure am, amigo, just trying to stay hydrated here before the desert storm hits.”

I can feel the frown burning into the side of my skull as I grab for another beer. A hand stops me in my tracks.

“Speaking of hitting it hard, maybe you want to lay off on this for a while.” Javier’s fingers deftly pry the can from my grasp before I can even comprehend the interception.

“You’ve got to be fucking kidding me.” I shake my head in disbelief, looking up at him as venomously as I can muster with the clarity of my vision beginning to become more than a little questionable.

Please get out of the car sir, and walk toe to toe in a straight line. Yeah, at this point, I may not have passed the test, but I would still tap dance over to beat his ass.

Javier holds the can just out of reach, his mouth slightly agape. He telegraphs my delayed decision to take a swipe at it, showing teeth when he can’t hide his amusement any longer. Not my most dignified professional moment. I contemplate aiming another loose fist at his head.

“Unbelievable. You’ve been plying me with this shit all day, and now you’re cutting me off?”

“I couldn’t possibly take all the credit for your current state.” Javier fires back, playfulness suddenly stripped from his face, his tone accusatory as though I was the perp on the other side of the interrogation table instead of one of the good guys, “Been putting in a lot of late nights off the clock lately, I’ve noticed?”

“Well, with the entire Search Block scaffolding Medellin, I can hardly sit around on my ass.”

“So that accounts for your time out of the office.” Javier nods, fingers poised under his chin in mock contemplation, “And when I found you passed out at your desk earlier this week?”

“A lot of paperwork.” I grit out through my teeth, unable to stifle the burn of embarrassment in my face. Shit.

“Hmm… and not one lead?” His face crumples into an exasperated grimace, like he’s speaking to the dunce in the class, “Might need to re-assess your methods, Murphy.”

“How about I re-arrange your face?” I growl defensively, because he’s hitting targets I thought were way out of range. Before I can reign in my temper, my fists are balled up in his shirt collar, pulling him close in the tight confines of the car without the space to swing.

“Tranquile. The DEA doesn’t have enough strings left in the world to pull you off the hook if you mangle an agent.” Javier’s voice is disarmingly smooth, even as his wrists lock easily around my exposed hold, ready to snap them in a second.

Fuck. I let go, breathing hard.

“You’re looking for a fight, but it’s not with me,” He pauses a second before adding offhandedly, “Didn’t mean to rile you up.” His eyes show he means it, following the movement as I slump back into my seat, fists clenching and unclenching as the adrenaline seeps its way out of my system.

I put my head between my knees for a second, arms clamped above my head as I suck in a ragged breath before sitting back, elbows raised, exhaling loudly. Javier watches me silently. His arm is draped laconically over the steering wheel, but there’s not a chance in hell he’s not alert, wound up as tight as I am and ready to spring at my next false move.

Can’t take a cop anywhere, am I right?

“I know.” I manage my best attempt at a winning smile, before raising my eyebrows indelicately, “Cut the shit already, I feel like I’m back in Catholic school. All this preaching has me fucking parched.”

“I would love to comply, but it’s obvious that beer isn’t what you need right now.” Javier intones solemnly, giving me an almost apologetic glance. Completely ignoring my eyebrows shooting into the remnants of my hairline, my partner unceremoniously turns from me and begins busying himself aimlessly rummaging in the back seat.

“Huh.” I shake out a cigarette and light up in resignation. Bastard. My gaze wanders away from our internal chaos as I crack a window, almost sighing as that first sweet drag immediately levels me out. The first of the raindrops begin their descent down the glass pane, torturously slow in their suicidal trajectory.

“Looks like we’re going to get some major water works out there shortly.” I report, searching the sky.

“All you’re going to have to worry about is staying dry in here, Murphy!”

Brow furrowed, I turn back to see Javier hoisting his prize, a bottle of tequila in each smug-slicked palm. His grin splits further, adding even more life to his features as I dive for the bottle again, unable to hold back my whoop of laughter in surprise as he jostles with me, playfulness returned in the completion of the ruse.

“Put your raincoat on first, white boy!” Javier laughs.

“You fucking asshole!” And I am grinning stupidly too from ear to ear.

Tequila on a stake out? As I said, if the gods can be distracted, what chance do mere mortals have with pranksters like Javier floating around?

 

*****

 

Now aside from the asshole partner and the stake out on the road to nowhere, why was a DEA agent getting bent on the job?

If regular monolithic obstacles, prophecies and interspersed trickery weren’t enough to contend with, heroes in training are often waylaid by the biggest of them all - a pretty lady. A paragon of virtue on which the unblooded hero can stake their honour and gain their fame, as they save the damsel in distress from unspeakable atrocities.

Call me out of touch with my metaphors, but this is the same train of romanticism that has elevated epic battles between good and evil to an iconic status. Hell, the entire justice system is built around the concept – defending the disadvantaged by standing up to the ultimate adversary.

I was in a similar predicament, but no sword or feat of bravery could salvage what I had lost. After surviving threats, shoot outs, run-ins with gangsters and my short-lived abduction by the Cali Cartel, it was my inability to protect my wife Connie and our adopted daughter that saw her return to the safest place she knew, our former home in the United States.

Slice it any way you like – she swore to me until she was blue in the face that she just needed to go, that even if my idea of home right now wasn’t here on the crime-ridden streets of Colombia, there was nothing that I could’ve done.

“Take care of yourself.” She said as the line dropped out, “Do whatever you have to do to stay alive. Javi will take care of you.”

Hardest of all to take, I couldn’t climb the tower or slay the dragon or whatever the fuck it is a man is supposed to do to fortify him and his.

You could say that months later, I was still coming to terms with the fact that I was more demi than god.

Cue the excessive drinking.

“Hit me.”

Javier does his best to hide his scepticism, but is now too far implicated to conceal his smirk as he hands me the tequila from where he is perched on his knees on the seat beside and I down a generous swig.

The rain is torrential, sheets of water beating against the glass like a hammer ironing out a sheet of metal. Our operation was indefinitely on hiatus - Pablo could swing past doing the tango with a spotlight trained on him and we wouldn’t see him in this weather.

“Has it hit you yet?” He laughs, helpless to the obvious spasm of disgust on my face as I fight to control my gag reflex, forcing me momentarily up from my lounging position with the seat reclined. I smartly down some more and grimace again.

“Getting a little warm under the collar, but otherwise-” I cut myself off with a loud burp, covering my mouth with my hand, before dropping it to my belly, “Tequila has never been my chaser of choice.”

“Looking a little full there, Murphy.” Javier observes amusedly, mouth quirking into a grin as his eyes trail to my middle, cheeks warm beacons in the poor light, framed by the steamed up windows and the rain. His eye lids are heavy, whether with the drink or the heat, it’s hard to tell. “Time to call it in?”

“Who, me?” I look up at him lazily from under my eyelashes, before lounging back again, “Nah, just making more room.”

In my heavily intoxicated state, the small, hard circles I’m rubbing into the immovable circumference of my belly feels so good, gently relieving the intense pressure, that it’s almost erotic.

“Mmm…”

“You sound like one of my informants.”

I catch myself on Javier’s cocked eyebrow, chasing the tequila off his lips as he takes another pull, looking more or less together one bottle down. And then there’s me, with my head tossed back, eyes half shut, looking like some low rent, Playboy centre fold reject.

“Oh yeah?” I challenge, well and truly game by this point, “The mild strip tease won’t surprise you then. Pass the bottle, Peña.”

He swigs teasingly at it again before handing it over to my impatient grasp. Spreading my legs to take up the breadth of the free space, I shamelessly pop the fly on my jeans, drinking as I go, allowing my distended middle some wiggle room.

“Now that is glorious.” The release of pressure right now is better than Pablo Escobar himself walking up to my passenger side and introducing himself. And that is how the drunk mind works, folks.

Javier shakes his slightly lowered head in open disdain, but the begrudging smile is undeniable.

“Glorious? Take it from someone sexually active - you need to get laid.”

“No kidding. It’s been a while.” I admit, and the thought is so sobering, the booze is spilling numbingly down my throat before I can control myself.  
“Easy, Murphy, easy.” Javier grabs the bottle as I choke wholeheartedly, and I must be getting near legless, because I let him take it without protest. Once I recover, I go back to half-heartedly rubbing my middle, anything to chase those serene moments before my shortcomings come back to bite me in the ass.

“I’m fine, Javi.” My voice chips, in spite of itself.

“I know you are.” Javier returns, also softer than intended. His eyes fixate on his knees and for a moment we listen to the heavy drum of the rain. Dropping my free arm to my thigh, I feel strangely responsible for the silence and the despondent look on my partner’s face.

I sit up straighter, rallying my hazy thoughts for a less perilous route of conversation. Looking down at my spread legs, I can’t help but grin. Let’s take this bad boy down a slightly more devious path.

“Who was the last person you fucked?”

The immediate look of confliction on Javier’s face has me rolling in laughter like an automatic’s kick back, my poor strained stomach just collateral damage.

“Let me guess…”

“A prostitute, not an informant!” Javier’s defensive tone is tempered with an easy grin that returns smoothly, the sun emerging from behind a cloud. His face is flushed with colour, a little more than just the liquor now, and for some reason I can’t stop grinning as I regain control of my bodily responses.

“This is real detective work now. From the place where you nearly busted La Quica?”

The incredulity is undeniable this time.

“Murphy, do I look like I am stupid enough to frequent the site of a police raid?” He exclaims indignantly, painting me as a total greenhorn with his stare, “There is more than one whore house in Bogota, for fuck’s sake!”

“How the hell would I know, man?” I laugh, throwing my hands up, equally incredulously. The two opposite sides of the coin are meeting face to face, and suddenly this is better than the booze.

“You’ve never…?”

I shake my head in confirmation, pushing Connie further back in my mind.

“You’re missing out on a true Colombian delicacy, then.”

“I’d rather not pay.” I feel my nose scrunch up despite how ignorant I must look.

“You pay for the fucking privilege, Murphy.” Javier rolls his eyes, shaking his head in frustration at my naivety, “You pay for a professional service that you are never going to get from whoever you used to barn dance with back in country Idaho.”

The motion exposes his neck, wiry as hell but deceptively strong like the rest of him. The column of his throat looks so untouched, smooth like the unbroken surface of a lake. And now I’m a drunken poet apparently…

In my unintended interrogation, I take a beat too long to answer, thoughts jumbled. The quirk of the eyebrow is all the confirmation I need that it shows.

“Aw, come on now, I’ve been with some pretty decent girls.” I brush it off. A perfectly timed hiccup only adds to my drunken alibi.

“Pretty and decent are two polar opposite when it comes to sex.” Javier presses, not letting up on me, “Think hard, are you sure you’ve had both?”

“You’re the expert, you tell me what both looks like.” I challenge smartly, sipping on the tequila again.

“Hair to her waist, perfect skin, plump lips and a fat ass that she lets you jam it into.” Javier’s response is effortless, his grin is feral, dark eyes flashes like a lick of lightning before fluttering half shut, transported by the visual.

I can’t blame him, my breathing is a little short at that pretty picture, pulse bunny hopping, reminding me, in spite of my circumstances, that I’m alive and red-blooded.

“Well, shit.” I reply, dumb with the thought of it.

“These girls could be in magazines, Murphy. The last one was a dyed red head with perky little tits, ones that popped perfectly in your mouth, that nice thick waist and an ass you were torn between using as a coaster and burying your face into permanently.”

Javier continues, too wrapped up in his story telling to comprehend my open mouthed wonder. He looks different like this, face flushed with excitement and gestures animated as my mind plays catch up, entirely unlike my ever-composed, cock-sure partner.

“Uh-huh.” I manage, dry-mouthed. It’s been a while since I’ve allowed my thoughts to wander like this, too consumed with work and hurt, but in this place, under the influence of Javier’s voice and the waterfall of booze, the images roam freely behind my eyelids.

“Let’s call her Valeria. On a good day, Valeria will let you come on her tits, squirt all over you then let you flip her over a fuck her without even a spit shine…”

This is where the light banter between two friends becomes dangerous territory, because how do you visualise a sexual blow by blow without at least two players? The open collar of Javier’s shirt shows just a come-hither sliver of skin. That’s all it takes.  
While Javier continues with his epic tale, I am having a revelation of my own about heroes. That’s the thing that makes them relatable, even the fallen ones – we’re all flawed, slaves to our basest nature, crippled by that one unavoidable trait.

For me right now, it is the reality that Javier’s tequila lubricated, dulcet tones and the very foreign, forbidden pictures he is painting with his tongue is working all sorts of pleasantries on my dick.

Talk about an Achilles’ heel. Hard as a fucking rock.

“-There is nothing like that tightness. Pussy doesn’t even come close. It’s an exercise in endurance, cause its clamps down so damn tight…” Javier’s always been almost lyrical the more worked up he gets. At this stage, I can barely get two words out.

“Javi, listen…”

“More details? Sometimes, I would pick her up and bend her over the desk, sometimes out the window, just to feel the juice soak my balls…”

“Javi, you gotta stop.” I am panting at this point, slobbering like one of the diseased dogs we would see in the slums.

“What’s wrong, Murphy? Too crude?” Javier seems to finally snap out of his reverie, sensing something was off in my desperate tone. The fog begins to clear in his glazed over eyes as he surveys me with startling concern. Finally, he spots the source of my discomfort. Even with my legs spread wide, it’s impossible to ease the ache.

There is a moment’s silence as Javier looks at my face, surprise overridden as he searches for an unasked response in trepidation. I have nothing more to give than what’s already plain as fucking day. Then the hesitation evaporates and fuck, are his hands on my fly?

“Javi, you don’t- “

“I’d prefer you to say ‘don’t stop, Javi’ but if you want to, we can.” The hesitation returns as the get out of jail free card is suspended between us.

His eyes are so bright in their intensity that I have to shut mine. I swallow hard, trying to clear my throat and collect my wildly spinning thoughts.

“I…fuck…”

He does the talking for me.

“Colombian blow jobs are an art form of themselves, and not just in their ability to completely consume you, if you know what I mean. The attention to all facets of head, shaft, balls. Have you ever had your perineum licked clean...”

Javier trails off indefinitely as he draws me out of my boxers, and I frown, cracking my eyes open.

“Is that some kind of Spanish, Javi? Javi?”

His pupils are blown, wider than anything I’ve seen, without the assistance of Columbian snow that is.

“What were they feeding you in West Virginia, farm boy?” Javier whistles, openly licking his lips as he stares at my dick with the determined fascination of a mountain climber about to scale Everest, “Fuck me.”

“Not beer and tequila.” I reply weakly, feeling my entire body go hot, all of my clothing suddenly too tight, my collar strangling me.

“How are you this hard? Fucking hell, Murphy.” Javier murmurs with a disembodied reverence. He plants his hand on the flush of colour on my still firm stomach. Damn if it doesn’t feel good and I’m pushing ever so gently into it, enjoying the gentle hum of pain that the friction elicits.

“For someone who hands it out for a living, you’re a real sucker for punishment.” Javier observes, digging his fingers in slightly as I begin panting in earnest. I can only guess my face is warring between pain and pleasure when his eyes flick to it, measuring my response, chest beginning to heave unsteadily.

Just to make things more uncomfortable, Javier rucks up my shirt. Before I can balk at the exposure, I am silenced as he begins to run his hand softly over the underside of my belly.

I bite my lip so hard that I taste blood.

“You’d pay extra for this dedicated level of foreplay.” Javier teases, revelling in my torment as I throw my head back against the seat, eyes screwed shut now as I attempt to control myself.

He sets both hands to work now, laving attention on both sides, running indented lines with his thumbs as the palms smooth over my sides, bumping up to my ribs before snaking down to press into my hips. It must be awkward for him, leaning over from the opposite seat, but if there is a disruption in the rhythm, I can’t feel it in the firm contact.

“I’ve always been more of a cut to the chase than fondle and caress kind of guy myself,” I joke, my breath catching. My hips buck of their own accord, impatient in the unmoving grasp.

“The girls always appreciate directness. A client after my own heart.” Javier’s grin is feral as his hands release their hold and slip further south. My heart is pounding hard now. I’m so on edge, world narrowed to my own heightened sense of anticipation, that when his hands cup around my balls, I nearly create a DIY skylight in the car roof with my fist.  
  
“Fuck man, go easy on me!” I grunt, willing my palm to flatten against the roof, grounding me back down, suddenly too aware of the oppressive heat, the halted motion of his hands and how exposed I am. It doesn’t help that my dick is flying free in the open air, already weeping at the prospect of human contact.

“Because it’s your first time, Murphy?” Javier jibes gently, letting me catch my breath.

The concern clouding his face evaporates in a heartbeat, replaced with a half-formed smile in a poorly concealed attempt to disengage any tension that my wired-up reaction has triggered. Javi has always been good at talking me down, though I never could’ve dreamed that his conflict resolution skills would ever be utilised in this particular scenario.

“That’s one way of putting it.” I concede as he hands me the discarded tequila, which I ingest sparingly. In spite of my response, I can feel my balls practically sweating in his stationary grasp. As if he can read my train of thought, he moves again, rolling them in a single, modulated motion with his palm.

“I promise I’ll make it good, take it slow for you.” Javier croons, parodying the quintessential first time encounter.

“Do you want me to choke you out, Peña?” I growl, hips bucking aggressively in protest at his stalling. If there was an escape plan, my body wasn’t having it, holding me hostage with the promise of fulfilment the only ransom.

“Right up my alley, but baby steps, Murphy,” Javier grins, “You’ve got the right idea, now try and relax…”

Before I can contemplate the full range of meaning behind that response, my cognitive abilities flat line as Javier bends over the seat and begins what I can only describe as delicately lapping at the beads of pre-cum perspiring from the head of my dick.

These ministrations continue for what seems like an eternity, the gentlest press of his lips, the soft roll of his wrist against my sac, torturously considerate. The pace becomes more and more frustrating each minute until I can’t help but open my already gaping mouth.

“Asshole, professionally and privately.” I grunt out, “Should’ve guessed you would be a total cock tease.”

Javier pauses with a grin, indulging in my inability to hold back my building frustration.

“Just like I knew you would be critical of my methods.” Javier replies easily, “I would charge you triple for not shutting your gringo mouth.”

Any potential comeback is swallowed up with the suction. I barely registered that the keen moan that escapes my throat is me when I feel the head of my cock hit the back of his throat, convulsing against the gag reflex but unrelenting in the application of pressure.

The assault on the senses continues from all angles as Javier starts tugging on my balls, dragging them back toward him even as I feel them getting fuller, tighter.

“Ugh-fuck, yes – Javi…”

There is no pretence about my pleasure, hiding behind propriety or imaginary boundaries. My hand finds its way into the dark shock of hair, locking in before giving a tentative pull. The deep throated groan reverberates up the length of my shaft, and my body signs its approval, shuddering as my hips beat up to meet his mouth.

Before you accuse me of taking advantage of my partner’s generosity, I assure you that the enjoyment is far from one-sided. As Javier’s pulls get longer and deeper, spurred on by my active participation, the signs are all there that we are co-conspirator in this immoral deed. He lets me know how wet it is with every exaggerated slurp, how full his mouth is with every hollow of his cheeks, every appreciative hum with my hands in his hair. Not convinced? Even uncomfortably bent over himself across the hand break, his tight jeans do nothing to hide his arousal.

You think this would be enough to get your rocks off, right? The steamed up windows in the patrol car, the tequila, being serviced by a seasoned sexual deviant. Despite the secure location, the clandestine call of natural urges in the perfect scenario, I just couldn’t get there. If something was holding me back, Javier sensed it, pulling off with a slick pop. Intuitive bastard.

“Talk to me, Murphy.” Javier doesn’t miss a beat, continue to pump the base as he investigates the cause of the delay. Don’t ever let anyone tell you men can’t multi-task, ladies.

“Too drunk, I guess.” I manage pathetically, and the excuse is so bullshit it’s not even worth defending when Javier raises an eyebrow in deference.

“Doesn’t feel that way.” Javier pushes, licking his lips, eyes alight and roaming possessively over my wrecked body, protesting my refusal as he gives my testicles a hard squeeze, making me jump, “Your balls are the size of grapefruits, you’ve got the full body shakes, and I’m pretty sure if I stuck a finger in your ass, I’d lose it.”

His voice is so thick that my dick nearly slingshots at his words, jumping so hard the rest of me nearly goes with it. Typically, Javier doesn’t miss the reaction and pounces on it, twisting his wrist up, around the head, and back down to the base so the aftershock is extended.

“The big, bad DEA agent likes the law laid down for him, huh?” Javier croons, leaning over so he’s close to my ear now, hand still stroking and twisting as I shudder violently.

“No idea what you mean.” I murmur incoherently, losing concentration as his breath fans over my sweat-slick neck.

“How about I tell you what I’ll let you do to me after we catch Escobar?”  
Now this may seem like a conflict of interest, even to my ears, but damn if it didn’t spark my interest.

“We’ll get back to the command, share a bottle to celebrate.” Javier is already running with it, lacing my ear with his heavy breathing, “When you finish your glass, I walk around to your side and clear your desk off. Your badge, gun, paperwork, everything hits the floor.”

His words lace my ear, hot with anticipation. And I arch into the contact, hips stuttering more desperately now against the quickening rhythm of his hand.

“You’re sitting in your chair as I lean on the edge of the desk, shucking my pants down under my hips.” He continues, a little short of breath himself now – only Javier could get worked up over his own story telling, “Now, your cock is pretty thick, so I start working myself open…”

“Excuse me?” I choke, voice gravel in my throat. His hand is blurred with my vision.

“I start with one finger, then move to two, until three are rotating up to the knuckle,” Javier’s pace doesn’t falter, verbally or physically, unable to help himself, “I can try for the whole fist if you want, but even by my standards, that is excessive.”

“You’ve gotta –be fucking – joking.” I gasp out, choking on my own sarcasm, because it’s both typically Javier and the filthiest thing I’ve ever heard. The heat that seems restricted to my groin is suddenly building in my gut, striking and livid like a dormant volcano.

“There is nothing more serious than anal preparation, Murphy.” Javier intones, stopping to squeeze the base of my dick, hard, so my entire body jolts with the force of it, stalling the inevitable, “Well, aside from your facial expression as you watch me fucking myself on my hand in front of you.”

“Fuck!” I hiss as he licks into the lobe of my ear. It doesn’t seem possible for my thighs to strain any harder, convulsing as my hips stuttering helplessly, stomach tightly drawn as my balls protest heavily.

“I figured you’d be impatient, so neither of us even have time to get our pants off before you flip me over, press me down hard into that shitty desk.” Javier groans, retreating down to intersperse the words with licks to the head as he continues on at a merciless pace, “It’s so tight when you slip the head in, all overwhelming heat and pressure, that you stop until you can will yourself to get fully seated without blowing.”

“Javi-mrhg-I can’t…”

His mouth is on me again, his hand gripping my belly and it’s too intense now, white-hot like the breaks in my vision.

“You can, Murphy. That’s the best part. You’re going to come on command.”

I can barely see, let alone believe what I think I am hearing.

He sucks my balls into his mouth and practically gargles with them, and I’m screaming wordless obscenities, too far gone to contemplate how ridiculous I must look making finger paintings on the foggy window pane, scrabbling for purchase at the peak when we both know there is only one way off this rollercoaster.

“Don’t worry about fucking my mouth, I’m not going to let up, alright?” Javier coaches encouragingly, fighting to capture my wandering gaze, “Listen to me. When you hit the back of my throat, you’re going to go.”

Well, if that isn’t a loaded order, I don’t know what is. He sucks me down without a second to prepare, hand raking through the blonde trail of hair on my belly, the other clamped onto my thigh as he swallows me down, down, down. And just like a good little solider, I am coming so hard I nearly black out before he can even reach the base. Just another puta being worked over on their back underneath the Colombian sky.

 

*****

 

What was I saying about heroes? Oh yeah, I’m not one. Not even close.

Javier isn’t even done whipping my spunk out of his moustache and I’m already hauling ass out of the car for a cigarette, still shaking with my pants tugged half way up my crack.

The rain has stopped and the heat has returned, clinging to every surface like the sweat on my neck, the smell of sex, the lingering tequila aftertaste in my mouth.

Wandering ahead of the car, I pull out a light and inhale that fucker like it’s my last breath of oxygen, dragging my free hand through my mused up hair. I’m still drunk and I can barely see straight, but in the open air I feel like I have the space to get some semblance of my shit together.

As I regain my composure, flashing headlights disrupt my concentration. A single flash, then another. The universal gesture for anyone looking to score on the street.

“Well that’s just hilarious.” I toe out my cigarette, hands on hips as I squint incredulously in the direction of the car.

“Swagger on back over here with my lighter, asshole!”

I shake my head but can’t suppress half a smile as I stroll back, hands slipping in my pockets as Javier meets me near the hood of the car. I chuck him the light and he catches it effortlessly, lighting the cigarette already perched between his lips. Somehow the unending bottle of tequila reappears. I grab another of my own and we smoke in silence for a beat.

Against my better judgement, I drink, grimacing before I clear my throat, ready to accept responsibility for whatever damage I’ve caused.  
“Look Javi, I didn’t mean… “

“Save the chivalrous act for someone who doesn’t already know you’re a sanctimonious son of a bitch.” Javier cuts me off at the pass, regarding me easily through the cloud of smoke, “And save yourself the guilt trip.”

“I fucked up. All the shit with Connie leaving, and now this…” The words are tumbling out of me, flooding like an open wound before I can stem the flow.

“She told me you’d do this.” Javier sighs impatiently.

“What the fuck did you just say?” I gape, stopped dead in my tracks.

“The morning after I found you comatose, I got in touch with the town sheriff in West Virginia PD to check Connie was okay.” Javier explains, raising his hands and watching my expression carefully, “Figured you might have missed a few details when you told me she left.”

“I may have been a little preoccupied.” I sniff, aggression dying on my tongue as I eye my boots, listlessly scuffing at the dirt.

“Affirmative.” Javier agrees, eyebrows raised as if daring me to argue. I stay silent for this round, “Connie told me you would hit the beat and the booze hard, you’d pick a fight with anything that stared at you the wrong way, and most importantly, that you would carry it all on your shoulders even though it wasn’t your fault.”

I wanted to kick up at that, throw punches and spit and hit, but something in the weight of his words, sincerity I had never heard from him before, had me believing that maybe there was a lick of truth to it.

He offered me another cigarette and I took it, smoking silently. The tequila bottle lay on the ground collecting dust.

“It’s been hard to swallow, but I’m getting there slowly.” I reply finally, meeting his gaze, “Thanks for having my back.”

“You just have to take care of yourself, Murphy.”

Something about the throwaway line flips a switch in my previously hazy brain.

 _Javi will take care of you…_ Her voice echoes inside my skull.

“For the love of all that’s good.” I groan, running my hands over my face in exasperation, “She told you to look out for me, didn’t she?”

Javier blinks back at me owlishly, feigning ignorance.

“I am not going to divulge the contents of a private conversation between consenting adults.”

“Wow.” I nod my head, chewing my lip as I am suspended in complete disbelief, “Please tell me that did not extend to blowing me in our patrol car?”

Javier raises his hands, palms outward in a non-threatening gesture, dripping with culpability, but there is a relaxedness in his frame that is beyond incriminating, telling me everything I need to know.

“I would hardly be that graphic with your wife, Murphy. I’m not an animal.” He chides, almost angry at the suggestion that he could betray anything that was sacred.

He waits a beat before continuing, letting his anger cool as I remain silent. The night sounds swallow us up for second before his voice drops dangerously, as though any excessive noise might dislodge some of the stars.

“She just told me to help you get whatever you needed to survive this shit storm.” He finishes.

I consider this for a second, holding the weight of it in my mind, before I nod.

“I understand. Thanks for having my back.”

We are silent again until the revelation settles, redistributed like shifting slate between us as we chain-smoke, the empty butts building as the tension dissolves like the embers in the evening air.

Eventually Javier stamps out his latest cigarette with an air of finality, killing the sobriety of the mood as only he can.

“That’s what partners do.” He replies before grinning wolfishly, teeth canine in their playful savagery, “Feel free to start holding up your end any time.”

“Is that how it is? Last time I checked, I was head of the task force.” I shoot back with a shit-eating grin, eating up the disgruntled look on his face, “Doesn’t that make you at my service?”

“Go ahead and pull rank,” Javier goads, “Typical desk jockey. Want all the pay off, but not willing to put in the work.”

I raise my eyebrows in amusement, reclining back on my elbows as he slides off the hood to move in front of me.

“Something you need to get off your chest, partner?”

“You’ve got no game, Murphy.”

His proclamation is so sincere that I slip backwards under the weight of it, holding myself together as I clutch my sides, howling incredulously.

“Oh, I did not just hear that!”

The sound is replaced with an exclamation of a different nature as the bastard decides to use my horizontal positioning to his advantage, visibly backing up before making a direct run at me.

I brace myself as his knees hit the metal, sliding on the rain slicked hood on either side of my body. My hands are up automatically to pillow the impact, grabbing at his waist to half his momentum as he halts above mine.

“No _comprende_? We both know you haven’t picked up a word of Spanish, but I didn’t realise your English was that bad to begin with.” Javi grins with an air of effortlessness, like he knew this stunt would come off without a hitch.

He barely breaks a sweat as he hooks his feet firmly over the bumper bar, solidifying his position as he well and truly seats himself in my lap before his hips begin to undulate.

I bite my lip, choking on a less than manly response, because yeah, the way he attempts to flick his barely wet hair out of his eyes, the tiny pink slip of his tongue poking out in concentration is so fucked up and so fucking hot. The conditions do nothing to impede the consistency of the pressure as his hips roll downward, not a single stutter in the precisely execute motion.

The effect does nothing to enhance the elocution he had previously been criticising as my mouth drops open without a word, fingers too preoccupied with making tracks in his hips as he bears down relentlessly.

“What was that, hmm?” Javi hums viciously, too triumphant, too early.

What was that Greek word they use to describe the heroes that blow it by being self-important sons of bitches?

“Say it again.” I dare him, voice cracked but eyebrows raised in challenge.

“ _Que_?” He replies distractedly, moving to sit upright, hands on his hips as he contemplates his next attack formation.

The slight shift is all the invitation I need. Using the displaced weight as leverage, I buck my hips upward, knocking him off balance.

“Fuck you!” He shouts as he tips forward, reflecting my own sentiments accurately, catching him off guard as I move upright, flailing as I take his weight and stand.

When I flip, I left gravity do the work as I slam him back into the hood underneath me. The sound echoes unforgivingly in the sparse arena.

“Who’s the top dog now?” I smirk as I glance down. The delayed response assures me I’ve been more than thorough in my roughhousing.

“Way to put the moves on.” Javi gasps in between gulps of air.

I’m not sure if it’s his breathlessness or my rapidly fading tolerance for his smart ass remarks, but I spontaneously decide to cut him off at the pass.

His eyes pop in surprise before slamming shut, overwhelmed as my mouth closes over his. Tequila, rain water, tobacco, and something else, something worn but familiar, distinctively Javi, suddenly makes everything unbearable wetter. I’m insistent with the contact, hungry with no technique to speak of as my tongue forces its way between his teeth.

When we both break away, the intensity of the contact startles us both as our limbs slowly disengage. My hand slips unwillingly from digging into the nape of his neck, his legs unlock from their bruising clinch around my torso as we gasp in tandem.

When I find the balls to look at him, Javi is grinning shamelessly in the face of my embarrassment.

“If this is the response to hypothetically catching Pablo, I can’t wait till we nab him for real.” He breaks the silence with a laugh, loud in the oppressive silence of the outpost.

The storm has settled around us momentarily – the world holding its breath. I soak in the revitalising smell of the freshly fallen rain and the idea doesn’t seem so ridiculous. Javi waits beneath me, unable to entirely suppress his self-consciousness as he licks his lips in anticipation.

“We’ve got a lot more ground work to put in before we get there.” I smile back, taking a breath before bravely carding my hands through his hair, pulling just enough to allay his fears while exposing his throat, marking the slick skin with my teeth as his body arches into and aware from the contact, before adding teasingly, “The investigation needs to be thorough.”

“Right there with you, partner. Whatever it takes.” He affirms, the response strained but undeniably earnest. I pull back, the commitment strangely sobering and I don’t know if I am speaking about Escobar anymore when I reply uncertainly.

“You honestly think we’ve got this?”

“For a serial idealist, you can be such a sceptic sometimes, Murphy. We might not be on the right side of the prevailing law enforcement or the powers that be, but gut-instinct has to count for something and mine says we’re going to get him. Have a little faith.”

His mouth finds mine again and it may not be a prophecy or an oracle, but it’s all the persuasion I need.

Even if we are all just mortals shouldering our own complexes, there’s something to be said for the old assurance that despite their omnipotence, the gods were always envious of our impermanence.

So I embrace my flawed, desperately hopefully humanity, giving over to the mess of conflict, fear and desire and admit that even the good guys need to call for back up sometimes.


End file.
